


Some Things Never Change

by FictionalNutter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s09e13 The Purge, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Long Overdue Conversation, Protective Sam Winchester, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 14:05:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1350121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionalNutter/pseuds/FictionalNutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a few weeks of being stilted around each other, an interaction with Dean after a hunt leads Sam to realize that maybe what he was trying to say wasn't so clear after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Things Never Change

**Author's Note:**

> I have been beyond pissed at the way people reacted to Sam's speech at the end of 9x13, and really his whole reaction to the Gadreel thing period. I understand where he's coming from, and I think he has every right to be upset, but the people who took from that that he doesn't love Dean as much or whatever crap they're spewing are driving me crazy, so this fic happened. I didn't even get out half of what I've been thinking, but here you are. I hope you enjoy it, and that there's others out there who agree with me!

For as much as things had changed between them over the years, some things would always stay the same. Sam would always prefer natural produce to anything fried, and Dean would always give anything for a good burger.  Sam would always appreciate good indie pop music, and Dean would always default to any rock music that preceded the 90's. Sam would always seek comfort from his books, and Dean would always act reckless when he was hurt.

So, given that certain things never changed, it wasn't out of the ordinary that for the next few weeks after the health club hunt, Sam spent almost all his time alone in the library, and Dean spent all his time in his room, headphones in place, and a bottle of whisky by the bed. Dean hadn't been a hard drinker in a while, but he'd never quite dropped it as a habit entirely. He probably never would, but he'd definitely grown out of his getting drunk for fun phase. This wasn't for fun, this was because he didn't want to think, and while Sam could fill his mind with any number of facts to bury whatever he didn't want to be concerned with, Dean would rather empty his mind entirely.

They'd gone out on a small hunt that weekend, taking care of a local salt and burn that it would have been negligent to ignore. Like everything else recently the hunt had been completely professional, and they'd returned to the bunker on schedule, retreating to their respective corners. Castiel was in and out, seeming to find the atmosphere of the bunker unsettling. He had his own agenda, and only stopped in by the bunker because he seemed to realize that if he didn't, Sam and Dean had no way of knowing if a rogue angel had killed him. Otherwise, he stayed out of their way. He had informed Sam the last time he had stopped by that he didn't want to be in their way if a resolution was to come about. Sam had just smiled sadly in response. He wasn't sure what, if anything, would resolve their current issue.

After returning to the bunker and eating dinner, Dean had headed to his room, settling in for the night with his blaring music and his alcohol. He didn't bother with a glass, choosing instead to drink straight from the bottle. He'd managed to bang up his side pretty badly on the hunt, but he didn't think he'd broken anything, so he hadn't told Sam. It wasn't worth dealing with more of the professionalism that was coloring everything else in their lives to get his brother to bind his side to help with the ache. Instead, he decided to self medicate with the whiskey. Relaxing against the mattress, Dean winced and lifted his shirt again, checking to make sure it wasn't more serious than he'd thought. He had some pretty nasty bruises and awful looking discoloration, but he'd broken ribs before, so at worst all he'd done this time was bruise the bones. Sighing, he tugged the shirt back into place and took another swig from the bottle.

Time passed, and he made it through most of AC/DC's greatest hits before he noticed that he'd drained the entire bottle. He reached over to the nightstand and opened a new one, ignoring the small voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like a ten years younger version of his brother lecturing him on the dangers of alcoholism. Snorting at the thought, Dean took another swig from the new bottle and shook his head, muttering to himself.

There was a knock at the door, and Sam stuck his head in warily. "Hey, you decent? I had a question for-" Sam stopped mid-sentence, noticing the empty bottle and partly drunken one on the nightstand. "Geez, Dean!" He moved forward quickly, snatching the bottle off the nightstand to get it out of reach. He glared at his brother, who mostly looked irritated that the whiskey was out of reach, but hadn't otherwise replied. Rolling his eyes, Sam darted forward to bat the headphones of his brother's ears, pulling back before Dean could swat him.

"Go away!" Dean snapped, his speech slightly slurred as he made a completely unsuccessful grab towards the bottle.

"Dean, you haven't gotten smashed like this in ages," Sam reminded him, continuing to keep the bottle out of reach. "You know how bad this is for you."

"You're not the boss of me," Dean muttered petulantly, lunging forward awkwardly in an attempt to take the bottle back. He was forced to cut the motion short as he winced, gripping his side and breathing hard.

Sam immediately set the bottle on the dresser, out of reach, and moved forward to Dean's side. "What's wrong?" He asked, his concern shifting to the apparent new problem.

"Nothing, not like you care," Dean griped at him, pulling back and shoving at his brother unsuccessfully. Dean was not especially coordinated while drunk, and Sam was sturdy enough to not be deterred by some pushing.

Sam sighed and rubbed at his face, eyes rolling skyward briefly before focusing back on Dean. "I hate doing this while you're drunk," he huffed under his breath. "Okay, here goes. Why wouldn't I care if you're hurt?"

Dean turned away, not answering, but still clutching at his side.

"I'll make you a deal," Sam offered. "You let me look at whatever's hurting you there, and I won't make you have this conversation tonight."

Dean rolled over slightly, pursing his lips and considering the choice. His aching side eventually made the decision for him, and he slowly nodded. "Fine." He waited while Sam retrieved a general first aid kit from the bathroom, then reluctantly pulled his shirt up to reveal the bruising.

Sam hissed in sympathy. "Dammit, Dean, when a spirit bangs you up by throwing you into a banister and I ask if you're okay, the correct answer is not, 'Yeah, sure, just got the wind knocked out of me.'" He imitated Dean's response from their previous hunt and shook his head in exasperation. "Sit still while I bind this, okay? Hopefully it'll make breathing a little easier. I'll get you some ice in a minute to help with the ache."

Dean watched him work with the bandages, eyes narrowed in confusion, but he didn't say anything. Occasionally his eyes would drift to the bottle Sam had taken from him, but he elected to sit still and let Sam finish with his ribs.

"There," Sam finally concluded, moving back to examine the wrap. "That should be fine. Is it too tight?"

"'s fine," Dean mumbled, exhaustion starting to get the better of him. "Just sore. Not gunna kill me." He made an amused noise at that.

Sam was still concerned, but not sure exactly how best to address the issue. "I'm going to get you some ice," he finally said, standing to leave. "Stay awake until I get back?" Dean made a noncommittal noise Sam took for a yes, and the younger hunter left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall towards the kitchen.

Dean didn't move, still trying to get his drunken brain around the fact that Sam didn't seem all professional about his injury like he'd been expecting. The attitude was almost normal for them, and Dean had almost started to forget what that looked like.

Sam reappeared a moment later, ice pack in hand, and maneuvered Dean into a more comfortable resting position so he could settle the ice in place. "Don't leave that there too long," he cautioned, "but it should help with the ache."

"I'm confused," Dean announced, but did not elaborate.

Sam waited for a moment with a raised eyebrow before prompting, "About...?"

Dean huffed at him, gesturing vaguely in the air. "You're normal now, not all I-don't-care-about-you like it's been. I don't understand." His words smashed together a bit, but he over-enunciated the last sentence, his volume dropping off after the word understand.

The pieces fell into place all at once, and suddenly the puzzle that was his brother made a hell of a lot more sense to Sam. "Damn," he muttered under his breath. Out loud, he shook his head at Dean and pulled the covers up over his brother's legs. "Apparently we need to have a talk," he said firmly, "but not until tomorrow. I'm not doing this with you while you're sloshing around in whiskey. For one, I'd like you to actually remember what I say. I'm going to bed, but call if you need me, okay?" He waited until Dean made a noise of acknowledgement before sighing and leaving the room.

* * *

 

The next morning, Sam woke his brother up with a glass full of various hang-over cure-alls they'd perfected over the years and a few varied headache relievers, in addition to a pain pill for his side. After making sure Dean took everything and finished off the glass, he headed into the kitchen to make breakfast.

Dean arrived in the kitchen about twenty minutes later, looking reasonably presentable and not as hung over as he could have been. "Bacon?"

Sam swiveled away from the stove and shoved a plate onto the table towards Dean, containing bacon, eggs, and two pancakes. "Have at it."

"Thank God," Dean enthused, digging in immediately.

Chuckling, Sam dished his own breakfast and turned off the burners, moving to sit opposite Dean. It was the same position they'd been in when they'd had their conversation after the health club hunt. The conversation that apparently needed some hashing out. Sam gave Dean time to work through his food before clearing his throat significantly, ready to talk.

Dean looked up immediately, his expression guarded. "What?" He asked warily.

"Okay, I get that we've been kind of dancing around the conversation we had a few weeks ago," Sam started, pausing when he saw the look on Dean's face.

"Do we have to keep talking about it?" Dean asked tiredly. "I get it, Sam. I don't like it, but I'm not going to fight with you on this. Just, I'd rather not hash it out every few  days or so when it's clear nothing's changed."

"This is different," Sam said firmly. "You and I suck at communication. Always have, and this is no exception. I didn't realize that there were some crossed wires last time, and I need you to understand me, not just assume you know everything I'm thinking."

Sighing, Dean rubbed at his face and leaned back, nodding. "All right, fine. What do we need to talk about?"

"Okay, first, tell me this. When we talked after the health club thing, what did you get out of that conversation?" Sam had thought his meaning was pretty clear, but now that he took into account his brother's attitude since, he was starting to think his brother hadn't gotten the message.

"You're pissed that I saved you, and if the tables were turned, you wouldn't do anything to save me." Dean said the words as matter-of-factly as possible, but the flash in his eyes was unmistakable.

"That's what I was afraid of," Sam muttered.

Dean looked at him funny, his stern facade cracking slightly. "Dude, that's exactly what you said."

Sam rubbed at his forehead and sighed. "Dean, let me spell this out, okay? I don't want some miscommunication between us causing more issues than we already have. Wouldn't be the first time, right?" He huffed at his rhetorical question before continuing. "Look, you said that had the situation been reversed, I'd have done the same thing, and I told you I wouldn't. Clearly, you didn't hear what I meant, although I thought it was pretty damn obvious. If you had been lying in a hospital bed, dying because of an effort to redeem yourself and close off Hell, and you were okay with dying, then I would let you go. I wouldn't go out and try and do something crazy to save you if you were really ready to go. I'd be upset, I'd mourn, and I'd try and pick up the pieces. I've done it before, the last time I thought you were dead. The reason I'm pissed at you is because you deceived me to save my life, and it caused a lot of really bad crap to go down, not the least of which was Kevin. I'm having some serious trust issues with you right now, Dean, and yes, I'm mad, but what you seem to have gotten from that, which is stupid because this has never been true, is that somehow that means I don't care about you anymore."

Dean was openly staring at him now, eyes wide. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sam cut him off.

"You know, you and I have been through a lot of crap," Sam pointed out. "I died and you brought me back, then you died and I went a little nuts looking for revenge, then I sort-of-died and you tried to move on, then you flat out disappeared and I thought you were dead, so I tried to do the exact opposite of what I did last time you'd died, except this time you back too. Then, in the latest bizarre chapter of our lives, I tried to put an end to one of the biggest threats we've ever had to deal with, but I stopped, because you asked me to, and I was ready to die, this time knowing that it wasn't going to end in something horrible, at least, but instead my life was saved to the detriment of everyone else. But you know what? As much hell as we've been through, figuratively and literally, there's some stuff that doesn't change."

"Like what?" Dean managed to ask, his voice cracking slightly.

Sam leaned forward, eyes intense. "We still love each other, you idiot. I've always loved you, and I always will. We don't say it, because we're emotional stunted asses, but it's true. So yes, I'm pissed at you, and I'm having trouble trusting you as far as being brothers goes, but that doesn't mean I don't still love you. It doesn't mean I wouldn't still take a bullet or a swipe of claws for you. It means I'm upset with you, and that if it had been me, I wouldn't have done it, because if that's what you really wanted, I would have let you go. That was what I wanted, Dean, and you didn't let me go."

Dean dragged his hands across his face slowly, his eyes reappearing over the tips of his fingers slightly red, matching Sam's own. It had been a very long time since they'd had any kind of conversation even remotely approaching this kind of intensity.

"Do you understand now?" Sam asked, his tone softer.

Dean nodded slowly, eyes still red. "Yeah," he replied, his voice rough. He cleared his throat and added, more naturally, "I...I don't think I'll ever be able to apologize for saving you." He paused, then continued when Sam didn't interrupt. "But...I get it. At least, I think I understand better. I am sorry for lying to you, and I'm sorry that my choices led to all this crap. But...I can't be sorry that you're still here."

"That's enough," Sam assured him. "I can live with that. Just...can you promise me you won't do it again? Please. If we really want to work on making this," he motioned to Dean and himself, "better, than I need to trust you again, man. Not as a hunter, I mean I trust you to have my back just fine, but I need to trust _you_."

Dean's expression was pained. "I..." he took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice from wavering.

"I'm not asking you to not save me if you can," Sam pointed out. "If it's medically possible, it's fair game, okay? Just, no more deals, no more sacrifices, no more pain because you don't want me gone, okay? Trust me, I don't want to live without you anymore than you want to be without me, but I think..." He paused, trying to figure out how to phrase what he wanted to say. "I mean, we share a Heaven, remember? It's not like we'll never see each other again. This isn't the be all end all. If I die, I want you to still make the most of your life and do something with it. If you die, I'll do my best to do the same. It's all we can do, in the end." Sam wasn't actually one hundred percent sure that his stint in Lucifer's cage hadn't affected his entry to Heaven card, which he'd been surprised to find he had in the first place, but this wasn't the time or place for that conversation.

Dean took another breath, calming himself before nodding. "Fine. I tried once before, so I know it's possible." He gave a small pained smile at the memories of his year with Lisa and Ben, which he usually tried to suppress. Locking eyes with his brother, he nodded once and said, "I promise, Sammy. No more supernatural crap to screw over Death."

Sam was relieved, relaxing slightly on his side of the table. He hadn't ever gone to the lengths Dean had to save his brother, but he'd have given anything for Dean to never have done any of the things he'd done to save him. When Dean had gone to Hell for him, Sam had practically gone crazy trying to find a way to get him out. It wasn't about bringing him back to life as much as it was about getting him out - he was in Hell! When that didn't seem possible, he'd gone to revenge. The most recent time he'd thought Dean was dead, he'd decided to do the exact opposite. Rather than drive himself insane trying to find out what exactly had killed his brother, he'd distanced himself from it all and tried to move on. That had backfired on him, in the end, but he wished that Dean had had more than one year with a former girlfriend to show for the times he'd been without Sam.

Maybe this time, they could be on equal footing. This time, when one of them died, that would be the end, and when the other died, they would finally get some rest. No more crazy back and forth causing havoc with their relationship and the supernatural world at large.

"How are your ribs?" Sam asked, decided that it was time to give the heavy conversation a rest.

"Better," Dean said gratefully. "Still not up to wrestling just yet, but hey, give it a few days."

Sam nodded, smiling at his brother's humor. "I vote movie day then," he suggested. "We deserve a break." The fact that it had been too long since they'd really spent any time bonding with each other went unsaid, but Sam knew Dean understood.

"Star Wars marathon," Dean blurted immediately, looking up hopefully.

Sam laughed out loud. It had been years since the last time they had watched the original trilogy in one sitting, but it was something he remembered fondly from his youth. "Only if you make a crap ton of popcorn," he bargained.

"Sold," Dean agreed instantly, jumping to his feet to dig through the cabinets for kernels.

Sam watched him with amusement, finding himself relaxing back into the flow they'd always had, in one form or another. They weren't fully better yet, but with one conversation they'd managed to fix a lot of what was wrong. Anything else they needed to work through would come in time. That was what brothers did. They fought, and then they reconciled.

"We've got licorice too," Dean announced from the corner, grinning as he held up the box. He turned to see Sam making a face of distaste and laughed. "More for me!"

Sam had to smile at that. No matter what, some things always stayed the same.


End file.
